


Fangless

by planiforidjit



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Alpha Derek, Changeless AU, Fancy Balls, Feral Derek, I don't know if there are any of those yet, Lydia is a Vampire, M/M, New York, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski, Vampires, Warlocks, Witches, but here we go, emissary stiles, so much research, sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-08-21 23:50:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8264945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planiforidjit/pseuds/planiforidjit
Summary: As both a preternatural and a spark, Emissary to the United States Government and all around good looking fella, Stiles Stilinski is in high demand. He's expected to attend late night, secret meetings with the highest ranking supernatural creatures in the country, act as an upstanding member of high society, and be ready to attend the supernatural police force should they need him. That doesn't mean he's not handling it beautifully. Until Derek Hale, Alpha of New York and owner of the finest rear end this side of the Mississippi, gets involved after a vampire attacks Stiles at a party. Then anything is fair game. Vampires, automatons, evil blondes, missed meals, not enough sleep, and a few not unwelcome glances at Alpha Hale's thighs.





	1. In Which Stiles Stilinski Does Not Purposefully Kill A Vampire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a much bigger undertaking than I anticipated, but I still really like it so I'm not going to give up!
> 
> If you haven't read Changeless by Gail Carriger, you don't need to to understand this, but it's really great so you should anyway. It mostly veers from the story except for the very beginning. But it's a similar universe, though I took a lot of liberties. Mainly moving it from London to New York because I don't know London or understand British politics.
> 
> I'm not even sorry about how I abuse commas in this fic. I just got a masters in writing so I get to make up the rules now. Right? That's how it works?

The Argent house, on 72nd and 5th looks as if someone cut it out of a corner in Paris and dropped it on the Upper East Side. Possibly flattening a perfectly fine house that was there in the first place. Everyone knows the Argents aren’t above crushing lesser people. A French flag, American flag, and a flag with the Argent crest on it hang outside the door. Stiles shudders as he walks beneath them. 

Stiles is not dressed well enough for this event: the nineteenth birthday of Miss Allison Argent, beautiful and deadly, just like the rest of her family. It doesn’t matter that he’s not dressed well enough, he’s a trend-setter in his strangeness. People will talk for days about the rumpled purple velvet jacket, lack of tie and vest, patterned trousers, and boater. Someone will do a write up in the times tomorrow about how bold his is. 

His father said that he looked like a fancy hobo as he left for the night with Scott at his side, dressed well in proper black evening wear. Stiles just popped the collar of his camelhair overcoat and swept out the door, leaving sparks in his wake. The spark thing works well for his flair for the dramatic, it doesn’t work so well for his track record of accidentally lighting things on fire.

He stamped out the flames on the edge of his coat when they got onto the street. Scott laughed all the way to the Argent's front door. 

At the door a werewolf servant takes their overcoats and hats. He sighs at Stiles and tries not to actually touch his skin. A few seconds of humanity is too much for the supernatural apparently.

The Argents are known for their werewolf help. Stiles is pretty sure that it’s not something good or pleasant for any of those involved, but he hasn’t found any evidence to suggest that it’s anything less than perfectly legal. It’s not really Chris and Allison that make him believe this. But Gerard and Victoria give him the heebie-jeebies and Kate has been locked away in an asylum for all the horrible things she’s done.

“Stop making that face,” Scott hisses when they enter the party. A few people turn to look at them, whispering under their breaths about the Emissary and his werewolf guard. Actually his werewolf best friend, but no one seems to care about that.

Since Stiles moved to New York from California a year ago he’s been the object of much speculation. He’s been written up in the Times, interviewed for the Tribune, and invited to so many salons his head is bursting with the names of people he’ll never remember. His strange clothes, along with his magic ability and his apparent refusal to see any of the eligible young women who have extended him an invitation make him a lot of fun to read and gossip about.

“What face?” Stiles asks. Except he knows which face. He’s got his tongue sticking into his bottom lip and his eyes _feel_ bored. It’s just that he hates this. He hates people looking at him and expecting things and he hates that sometimes it’s fun to give them what they want. He’s obnoxious, yes, but that doesn’t mean he wants people to be involved in every little part of his life.

“Just be happy,” Scott says, grabbing them drinks from a tray. At least the Argents have the decency to serve drinks infused with wolfsbane so the whole party can enjoy them. “This is fun.”

“It’s fun for you,” Stiles says. “You get to do whatever you want.”

One unfortunate stipulation of his contract with the government is that he’s unable to see anyone during his time as Emissary. He could be compromised or wish to leave if he found someone and they can’t have that when occasionally the fate of the world is at stake.

Not that it really matters. He doesn’t want to dance with any of the stuffy people here anyway. He doesn’t want to date any of the women who invite him out for walks and tea and whatever else.

He wants one person and that one person is complicated.

“I’m going to go speak with Miss Argent,” says Scott, handing off his mostly full drink to Stiles who shakes his head and shoves the drink back at him. “Finish my drink.”

“No. No. What are you doing? You can’t just leave me here alone.”

“ _Stiles_.” Scott gets that pleading puppy look and his hair is looking particularly floppy tonight. Maybe he’s hoping that if he looks like a lost child Allison will finally take pity on him and allow him to court her. 

“Fine,” Stiles says. “But you’re taking me to the society library tomorrow.”

Scott sighs. “I’ll do that.”

“Good.”

Scott smiles. “Thank you, Stiles.”

He hurries off, slowing down before he reaches Miss Argent in some attempt to look like a normal human being, which is difficult on the best day for Scott, even more so when at a party. Miss Argent still turns and smiles at him, all dimples and bright eyes.

Stiles wants to vomit.

He finds an arm chair and orders another drink to accompany the half of one he has from Scott. He sighs and sips his wine while he watches everyone else at the party flirt and dance their way around the room.

There aren’t even many people there he knows. Just Scott and the Argents technically, but like nearly everyone else he wishes he didn’t know them. And their relationship is strained at best. A few close calls where they’ve needed each others help doesn’t make them allies.

After his third drink Stiles decides the best decision is not to try to talk to people that he hates, but instead go find the library. He knows that the Argents have a massive one. And they probably have an edited copy of their bestiary and even edited it could be insightful.

Not that anyone knows more than what Stiles already knows.

He finds the library with minimal stumbling and perches himself at a table. There are a few books already spread out from whoever was in there last and it’s just wonderful to look over things. He needs some intellectual stimulation because that crowd out at the party wasn’t doing it.

He’s just looking over pages on feral wolves when he hears a low voice say, “Emissary Stilinski.”

Stiles turns and there’s a particularly good looking young man leaning against a bookshelf. He’s obviously a vampire, pale and dressed in all black. They have a flair for the dramatic that isn’t totally lost on Stiles. He understands dramatic. Sometimes it’s fun to be dramatic.

Stiles tries to give him an alluring smile and probably fails. "What can I do for you, Mister—?"

"Don't worry about who I am," the vampire says. "I've been looking for you _everywhere_."

Stiles stands and backs towards the door. The vampire looks positively thirsty. The handsome thing doesn't work so much when Stiles is scared for his life. "Do you need a spell or maybe a potion of some sort? I'm quite good at those."

"No," he says. "I need something much more immediate."

The vampire lunges at Stiles with a hiss and Stiles stumbles back, his head hitting the side of the table. The vampire's hand connects with Stiles' shoulder and he shouts, drawing his hand back.

"Oh, about that," Stiles says, trying very hard to ignore the pain in his head. "Sorry. You know you can't touch me."

The vampire looks bewildered and grabs Stiles again, shouting when he loses his immortality.

Stiles sits up. "You don't know what I am, do you?"

The vampire growls, going for Stiles again. His hand wraps around Stiles' throat and he smiles, despite the fact that he's totally human. Being human doesn't mean he can't choke Stiles' out.

"You're not as strong," Stiles chokes, kicking at him. 

"Doesn't matter." The vampire pins him down with his legs and puts his weight into his hands at Stiles' throat.

Stiles tries to choke out a one liner about magic, but his airway is being crushed and his vision is going a little blotchy, so it's probably time to settle this. He waves his hand, sending the vampire flying back and he doesn't mean to kill him, just incapacitate him, but the vampire goes flying straight into the end of a wooden dowel meant to hold newspapers.

The Argents are going to have a nasty time trying to get the blood out of the carpet.

Stiles stands, coughing and trying not to gag at the sight of what's left of the vampire. Mostly a gooey pile of clothes. If his throat didn't hurt so much, Stiles would just vomit right on the floor.

Derek Hale, Alpha of New York and owner of one of the finest rear ends Stiles has ever seen, bursts through the doors to the library in clothes so tight they're practically indecent.

They've had a few encounters already. Most of them as unfortunate as this one. This isn't the first body Derek Hale has found Stiles standing over.

Stiles looks at Derek and then down at the pile vampire on the floor and then back at Stiles. Derek's eyes trace the still-glowing tattoos that reach down to Stiles' fingers. He doesn't know, of course, that they're glowing all the way to Stiles' heart and honestly they're a little warm. Stiles would like to remove his jacket. But he feels like this might not be the time. 

"What did you do?" Derek asks. He's looking particularly furry this evening. His eyebrows are so thick and drawn together and Stiles only found out that he's attracted to eyebrows when he met Derek Hale for the first time a year ago and he's not sure he'll ever be able to get over them. 

"Um…he attacked me?"

"He attacked you? Here? In a library? A vampire?"

Derek's eyebrows get bushier with each question.

"Yes. I know it's very strange and I know that as Emissary I don't exactly have the right to kill people, but I didn't do it entirely on purpose."

Isaac and Boyd stand behind him—also entirely too attractive. It's like some sort of werewolf prerequisite. Must be at least a nine out of ten.

Stiles would never make it.

It isn't often Stiles has these self deprecating thoughts, he's not an unattractive you man. On the contrary. He thinks he's quite handsome on certain days of the week and to certain people. He has nice eyes and not horrible cheekbones. Sort of thin compared to the men standing before him. And that's the problem, really. Being in the presence of such attractive werewolves makes him self deprecating. So really they're at fault.

"What were you even doing in here, Stiles?" Isaac asks.

He's got that sort of fond "oh Stiles" look on his face he sometimes gets when Stiles happens to be annoying Derek most of all. It's a nice look. Because Isaac's other look is this dead in the eyes serial killer one that Stiles never really wants to push.

Boyd just stares at him. He doesn't blink. And it would be intimidating if not for the slight tilt of his lips.

"I was so bored," Stiles says. "Everyone's dancing and I can't ask anyone because, you know, _things_. And Scott is so in love with Allison. It's all he talks about and really, it's just too much. It's like an entire evening dedicated to the fact that I'm going to be alone. Then a vampire comes in and lunges for my throat and I didn't mean to kill him he just happened to fall heart first onto a wooden stake."

"Are you hurt?"

"Only my dignity."

Stiles' eyes meet Derek's truly beautiful ones. They're somehow blue and green and hazel. Big and wide and searching Stiles' face for something. There's a little gray in Derek's beard and Stiles wouldn't mind terribly finding out how that beard feels in a few different places. Soft maybe.

Derek's gaze falls on Stiles' neck and honestly his head is still throbbing. Then Derek is there in front of Stiles and tilting his chin up to look at him. God, Derek smells very good this close. His eyebrows practically become one. He scowls.

"You _are_ hurt."

"He strangled me a little and I hit my head."

“Are you drunk?” Derek asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Um, well I’ve had a few drinks.” Despite the drinks and Derek's close proximity, Stiles has the wherewithal to wave his fingers at his neck and the back of his head to heal his injuries. It doesn't take away the pain in his head, but like all issues, Stiles decides he will ignore it until it goes away. 

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jesus.”

"You did kill a vampire," Isaac says and Stiles looks away from Derek and Derek steps back from him. "That's pretty great. And you did it drunk.”

"I like vampires," Stiles says. "Lydia Martin, the—."

"We know Lydia Martin," Derek growls.

Derek growls often and at this point Stiles should be used to it, but he's not. Every time Derek's voice gets low and rumbly, it just leaves Stiles to wonder what he sounds like in bed and that is a very self destructive path to take.

"I don't want to make a fuss about this," Stiles says. "It's going to ruin Scott's evening. And I'm already so—Alpha Hale, I just realized, did anyone contact you about this? How did you know I was here?"

Isaac's face lights up. "He's been—."

"We keep an eye on the Argents at all times. I saw you walk into the library and I naturally assumed that something was about to go horribly wrong."

Alpha Hale is not only the possessor of a not small fortune and the finest rear end in all of New York—possibly the world—but he is also the head detective of New York's supernatural police force. It is not a profession to scoff at. Most are surprised that with his supernaturally good looks, fortune, title, and social standing that Alpha Derek Hale has yet to marry.

"Of course," Stiles says. He doesn't want to admit that he was hoping Derek kept an eye on him.

"Isaac and Boyd, you can handle this," Derek says, waving his hand at the mess of vampire on the floor. "I have to go speak with Miss Martin and figure out why a vampire would attack Emissary Stilinski."

"I'll come with you to see Lydia."

"I'm escorting you home," Derek grunts. His hand comes up to grab Stiles' elbow. Derek and Scott are among the few who do not mind touching Stiles.

"I'm an adult, Alpha Hale," says Stiles, pushing Derek away from him. "I can do what I want."

"I don't care. You've attracted enough trouble tonight. Who knows if another rogue vampire will attack you for no reason."

"The reason was clearly that I am very attractive and he was an idiot."

"You could have died, Emissary Stilinski. Please be serious."

"It's barely midnight," Stiles says with a groan. "It isn't my bed time for another five hours."

"I don't care," Derek says again. "Come on. Let's get your coat."

Derek pushes Stiles out of the room and stays at his back as they stalk towards the entryway and Stiles' belongings.

"What's going on?" Scott asks, running to Stiles' side.

"You're a useless bodyguard," Derek growls.

"He's a very good friend," says Stiles. All right, that blow to the head may have done something.  

"I'm taking him home," says Derek. "He'll inform you of what happened tomorrow." 

"Tea?" Stiles asks. "I'll be sleeping until at least two."

"I'll see you then," says Scott.

Derek leads Stiles to the door and grabs his coat and boater for him. Derek makes a very complicated noise at the hat, but Stiles squishes it onto his head and smirks.

"I don't know what to say to you," says Derek.

"Maybe that my hat is beautiful."

"You look like you escaped from an asylum."

Stiles shrugs at him. "Maybe I did."

Derek just shakes his head and pushes Stiles towards a carriage waiting for them at the curb.

\---

Stiles lives in a brownstone with his father across the park from the Argent manor. They have a single butler named Samuel and a cook Stiles rarely sees, who Stiles' father let off for the night. Neither of them are comfortable with how nice everything is. They were moved for Stiles' job and did not have such luxuries back in Beacon Hills.

Honestly, that was sometimes easier.

Stiles fumbles with his key for the door and Derek sighs. "You don't have someone to answer your door."

"Samuel is off for the night," Stiles explains.

Derek takes his key from him and fits it into the lock. "Your hands are shaking, Emissary Stilinski."

"Well, I was just attacked by a vampire. We aren't all perfect specimens of stoic masculinity, Alpha Hale."

"You really can just call me Derek."

Derek pushes open the door and puts his hand on the small of Stiles' back. Stiles knows that Derek can smell all the things he's feeling right now, but Derek doesn't say anything.

"Then you can call me Stiles."

"Your name is ridiculous."

"It's not my real name." 

"I know." 

"Your face is ridiculous."

Derek smiles and it's soft and fond and he presses Stiles' key back into his hand. "Get some sleep, Stiles."

Stiles rolls his eyes and steps inside the house. He turns to watch Derek head down the stairs. "Say hello to Lydia for me! You'll be hearing from me tomorrow night!"

"I'm sure I will," Derek says as he descends towards the sidewalk.

Stiles watches him go and shuts the door. He keeps himself from leaning against the door and thinking wistfully of Derek's hands on the small of his back. He's not that ridiculous. 


	2. In Which The Author Meticulously Researched the Use of Okay in the Late 19th Century

Stiles is only finishing getting dressed when he hears the doorbell ring and Samuel greet Scott at the door. He might have healed himself the night before, but he still feels as if he's been trampled by cows. Sleeping until three in the afternoon didn't really help. 

He doesn't bother buttoning his sleeves at the wrist or his collar for Scott, who is used to the tattoos by now and doesn't stare like others do. The tattoos on his hands doesn't seem to bother people, but when they learn they go all the way up his arms it's apparently too much for the bourgeoisie.  

Samuel eyes him distastefully as he descends the stairs. 

"Emissary Stilinski," he says with a sigh and his strange accent that Stiles is sure isn't real, but doesn't want to ask about. "Mr. McCall for you in the drawing room." 

"Thank you, Samuel," Stiles says. "If you could bring us tea—." 

"Just tell me to bring you tea, sir. You don't have to ask." 

"Er, right." Stiles is still supremely uncomfortable asking for things. "Bring us tea and something to eat? Sandwiches?" 

Samuel nods once and leaves without opening the door to the drawing room for Stiles. 

Scott stands from the chesterfield when Stiles enters the room. "Are you okay? Derek wouldn't tell me anything." 

"You spoke with Derek?" Stiles is barely interested. Who cares if Scott spoke to Derek? Not Stiles. 

"He showed up at my apartment and I think fired me?" 

"Fired you? From what? You don't work for him." 

Scott shrugs. "I don't know. I just feel like I lost a job." 

"Well you're obviously still my guard.”

"Obviously." Scott sits down and leans back against the couch. "So. He walked you home." 

Scott is a hopeless romantic and Stiles is here to nip that nonsense in the bud even if he kind of wants it. "Don't—just stop before you get ahead." 

"Why?" 

"Because you're wrong." 

"I am?" 

"You are. Definitely." 

Stiles clears a space on the low table in front of them for the tea and sandwiches that Samuel brings through the door on a fancy floral platter. Stiles isn't sure where all the things in the too-large house came from, but he's sure whoever decorated probably smelled like dying flowers and may have been very elderly. 

"Thank you, Samuel," Stiles says and Samuel just inclines his head. Scott raises his eyebrows, but leans forward and takes a sandwich. 

"What do you think I'm wrong about?" Scott asks as Samuel leaves. 

"Whatever you think happened with Derek." 

"Why would I think something happened with Derek?" 

Stiles groans. "Stop trying to make this into something. It's nothing. He left me at the door." 

"Boring," Scott says with his mouth full. 

"I know."

"So what are you going to do? Do you know what's going on with the vampire that attacked you?"

Stiles tears a sandwich in half with his fingers and then tears it in half again. "I thought I'd go speak with glorious Lydia and I've got a council meeting at midnight. Maybe I'll see Alpha Hale in the meantime."

"Good plan," says Scott. He looks a little shifty in his seat. "Would you mind if I didn't accompany you tonight? I mean you know I'm just a formality and Miss Argent asked if I could stop by for dinner with her family and—."

Stiles rolls his eyes. Scott falls in love hard and fast so there's really no stopping him now that he's decided that he's in love with Allison Argent.

"You really are the worst bodyguard. No wonder Derek fired you." 

Scott is all dimples when he smiles. "I know. But you really don't need me."

"I don't. I mean maybe last night, but I'm sure if I hadn't been alone, he would have waited until I was."

"Did I apologize for letting that happen yet? I'm sorry. Really, Stiles. I shouldn't have let that happen."

"I wandered off on my own."

"If you need me another time," Scott says. "I can be there for you. Let me know tomorrow how everything goes. I'll stop by for tea again and we can talk about what happens. You'll let me know."

"Absolutely." 

\---

Most of the supernatural creatures of New York live in Greenwich village. Stiles isn't sure why except maybe it’s that in a community of artists and musicians, having fangs or claws isn’t all that strange.

Lydia Martin and the rest of her vampire nest (and a few very happy humans) live in a mansion not far from the Den, where Derek lives with his pack. Stiles doesn’t think about Derek being just a few blocks away as his carriage drops him off in front of the tall, wrought iron gates. He doesn't think about what might happen if he just randomly ran into Derek and they chatted and decided to spend the rest of their lives naked together. 

Lydia's mansion takes up most of a city block and is encased by the high wrought iron fence. The stone is dark and while the building wasn’t made for vampires—Lydia purchased in through some shady dealings in the early part of the century—it looks like it might as well have been. The tall windows are lit and Stiles can see shadows moving behind curtains heavy enough to keep the light out.

Lydia has a number of beautiful humans working for her. Young men and women wearing clothes that border on indecency let Stiles into an opulent drawing room layered in silks and velvet, hung with candles that would surely send the mansion and its inhabitants up in flames if it weren’t for the spells Stiles had layered all over the place.

He’s wearing a paisley cravat for Lydia and red tartan trousers. She hates his velvet jacket, but he is fairly sure it’s the best piece he owns. He adjusts his cravat as he settles himself on a velvet settee and a pale young woman with scars on her neck places a fruit and cheese platter and a carafe of wine in front of him.

He helps himself to the cheeses that don’t really work together—this is the problem with a vampire providing human food—and wine that was only bought because of the high price. Lydia, having lost her taste for anything that doesn’t come fresh from the neck, relies mainly on price point when providing for humans. If it’s expensive it must be good.

Eternal youth and beauty be damned, Stiles thinks as he spreads blue cheese over a cracker. He’d never give up food for any of it.  
  
The doors burst inward and Lydia strides in, dressed better than she’s ever been before, better than anyone Stiles has ever seen. She’s draped in soft pink fabric in a grecian style. Her creamy skin stands out against the fabric. It’s possible that she has a second job as a goddess.

Stiles nods towards her and gestures at the corner of his own mouth. “You’ve got a little—just there.”

A young man is at her side, handing her a handkerchief. She dabs the blood from the corner of her mouth and hands the handkerchief back to the young man.

“It would be embarrassing in front of anyone but you,” she says. “Where on earth did you find those hideous pants, Stiles? You look like a lunatic trying to be a dandy.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Maybe that’s what I am.”

“You idiot,” she says, but her eyes twinkle with a smile. There was a short time Stiles fancied himself in love with her. In his first few months in New York, she proved herself a formidable opponent in chess and ally in everything else. Stiles is weak when it comes to intelligent women. He suspects that he’s be absolute goo in front of a department of female scientists.  
  
Of course his love for Lydia quickly turned into general admiration after he met Derek Hale. That first incident with the demonic ducks in Central Park brought them together. Seeing a grown werewolf, sopping wet with a duck under each arm was a life changer.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Lydia asks. “You don’t look like you’re here for a random house call.”

“No.”

Lydia sits down next to him and Stiles takes a gulp of his wine. Lydia makes an effort not to touch him. Sometimes she wants to the see the sun and must hold on to him. But Stiles is sure that the experience is less relaxing for vampires than it is for werewolves. When you're hundreds of years old, feeling your age, if only for a few moments, can't be fun. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard,” Stiles says, “but I was attacked by a vampire last night.”

Lydia’s eyes go wide for a moment before dulling back to her usual cool curiosity.

“I didn’t,” she says. “Last night I was…indisposed. I heard Derek Hale stopped by, though. He didn't make it sound urgent. He didn't try to get in or ask to meet on neutral ground." 

Stiles is sure that if he asked theater sensation, Jackson Whittmore, and known hellhound and deputy to Derek Hale, Jordan Parrish, where they were last night, they would also say they were indisposed. Still, as strange and wonderful as that image is, Stiles is now left with more questions than answers.

Stiles fills her in on what happened the night before and Lydia takes it all in stride, barely displaying any emotion at his story. 

"Derek should have insisted on telling me," she says with a wave of her hand. "Werewolves are so petty." 

“So it wasn’t one of yours? The vampire? I thought maybe something had gone wrong.”

“All were present and a counted for at moonrise today.”

“No one has sired any new vampires? I think he was working for someone. He said he was looking for me. But he didn’t know about my ability.” He wiggles his fingers at Lydia and she chuckles.

“None of them have sired new vampires. I would know.”

Stiles slumps back and drinks more wine. “I don’t know where to start. I don’t even know if there is anything here. Is it just an isolated attack or should I be worried about another one?”

 

“If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you.”

\---

As luck would have it, Derek Hale is pacing outside the gates to Lydia's mansion when Stiles is escorted to the door. He pauses when he sees Stiles and his eyes do that glorious red flash they always do when he's extremely angry. Stiles is sure that they're not going to act on his being naked together forever fantasy, but he lets himself indulge it for just a second. 

"Why were you talking to Lydia?" he growls when Stiles steps through the gates. 

"Derek," Stiles says with a little thrill at saying his name. He puts his hand on Derek's arm and Derek relaxes, losing some of his very wolfy features. "I had questions to ask her about last night." 

"They won't let me in." 

"You know you can't go in there without an appointment." 

The vampires and werewolves are in an age old battle of who is the better supernatural creature. It's been a fight for centuries and Stiles like to straddle the line between it. It means that without an invitation neither of them can enter the others ground and by showing up twice in as many nights, Derek has probably broken some rule of decorum. 

"It's idiotic." He doesn't growl, but his voice is still rough. Soft and rough at the same time. Stiles isn't sure how he does it, but he loves it. 

"You could always invite her to meet on neutral ground, but why don't I save you the trouble. It wasn't one of her vampires." 

"How do you know I'm here about that?" 

"What else would you be here for? And I heard you tried to stop by last night. She said you didn't make it seem urgent." 

"I can handle it without her." Derek scowls. "How do you know it's not one of hers?" 

"Well one, I think he was there to attack me specifically and Lydia would never do that to me and two, she said all of her progenies are present and accounted for." 

Derek nods. His eyebrows practically knit together. No one in his position should be allowed to be so attractive and hairy. "Another vampire attacked one of my betas. She's fine, but the vampire was killed."

"When did that happen?"

"Just after sundown. I—I got in touch with other nests in the boroughs, but none seem to know anything. That was before Erica was attacked, but—."

"Erica! Is she really fine? She's my favorite of your betas."

Derek rolls his eyes. "She's fine. Erica is capable of taking care of herself. As I was saying, none of the nests seem to know anything about these rogue vampires. None of them have ever been hostile before. Not in a while anyway." 

"I'm not sure any of the nests are involved." Stiles rubs at his temples. "I need to think on this."

"Where are you going now?"

"I have a meeting at midnight with the council, but I was thinking of getting something to eat. Vampires are horrible at providing food." 

Derek snorts. "Mind if I join you? We can talk about the case." 

Stiles doesn't try to read into Derek wanting to join him for food. Of course Derek wants to get something to eat. He's a werewolf. They love to eat. 

"Where would you like to go?" Stiles asks, finally taking his hand from Derek's arm. 

"I know a place that caters to werewolves," he says. "So, big plates of food." 

"Perfect," says Stiles. "Let's go there." 

\---

Derek orders more food and wine than Stiles has ever seen. He doesn't talk much. Just listens to Stiles go over what happened, what he's thinking.

Derek is on his third chicken when Stiles finally says, "Oh my god. Someone is creating vampires to be bad assassins and not teaching them anything. So they don't know what they're doing and they're dying."

Derek narrows his eyes at Stiles. "Why would they want them to be bad assassins?"

"Okay. That is flawed logic. Maybe someone is creating vampires and they escaped."

"How are they creating them without a queen?" Derek asks.

"Maybe they have a queen we don't know about."

"It's interesting that the vampire attacked you in the Argents' home."

"You can't just blame the Argents for everything."

Derek looks a little like he's going to say, "I can blame them for everything," when an all too familiar voice says, "I don't know, Emissary Stilinski, he makes a solid case against us."


	3. In Which Everyone Is Devastatingly Handsome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around and reading and sorry for taking so long! Things are insane (I had a book due, the election happened and I cried for two days). But we all deserve good things right now. 
> 
> Anyway, Chris is kind of out of character? I honestly can't tell if I want him to be a good guy or a vaguely Peter-esque character even though Peter is going to show up at some point probably. Anyway it's just really important to recognize how attractive Chris is and go from there. 
> 
> Also Kate is part of this and recently someone said on Tumblr that they didn't read anything with Kate so I figured I'd give you a solid warning. She's a part of the plot and she sucks. 
> 
> Also, also in the Soulless books Alexia has her trusty parasol and I really wanted to give Stiles a parasol, but I didn't think it made sense for a dude to be carrying around a parasol unless we were going for some funny Tim Burton-esque vampires. So just pay attention to the velvet jacket if you're looking for his something magic.

Chris Argent drops into the empty seat next to Stiles and gives them both a smile that can only be described as sarcastic.

"Are you telling me it _is_ your fault?" Stiles asks. "That seems stupid." 

Chris shakes his head and reaches over to grab the bottle of wine to pour himself some. "No. I'm not sure why a vampire attacked you in our home. What I can tell you, though, is that Kate escaped a few nights ago."

Derek tenses. Everyone knows that Kate Argent is the reason Derek Hale's only living relatives are his sister, who lives all the way in Paris and his uncle, who is in a locked ward at a hospital for rich people who have gone insane. Derek lost his whole family because of Kate. No one knows how she got into the locked house in Connecticut to burn it down with most of Derek's family inside, but she did.

Derek slams his hand down on the table. No one jumps and Derek looks a little disappointed that he didn't manage to scare everyone in the restaurant. "You didn't think to tell us?"

"We were going to try to handle it on our own," Argent says. "And I don't know if it's related to the vampire attacks, but I thought you should both know. You especially, Stilinski. You can bring it to your meeting tonight."

"Right," Stiles says. "You know those are supposed to be secret." 

"You're not trying so hard."   
  
Chris makes him uncomfortable and he's not entirely sure why. He's obviously not a bad man, but his cool, attractive eyes coupled with his soft looking facial hair make for a deadly and attractive combination. 

"You don't you trust me, Stilinski?" Stiles blushes as Chris winks at him. Derek grips the table so hard he dents the wood.

"I don't know yet," Stiles says. 

"That's fair." Chris waves a waiter over and orders more wine for the table. He winks at the waiter too. Stiles wants to slide down to the floor and die. 

"You're _staying_?" Derek asks.

"You're going to want to know everything I can tell you, aren't you?"

Derek stabs his steak and Stiles sits back in his chair. He takes a sip of his wine and smooths out the bottom of his velvet jacket.

"What else can you tell us?" Stiles asks, glancing at Derek, who is staring at Chris like maybe he'll drop dead from the force of his gaze.

"Kate was last seen in New Jersey," Chris says, unfazed by Derek's glare. "But we have reason to believe that she will be back." His eyes drift over to Stiles. "And then you were attacked by a vampire last night at our party."

Derek's lips are so thin they're practically white. He's making a low growling noise. Stiles lays a hand on his thigh under the table, which would be sexy except it's really just to stop Derek from wolfing out in the middle of a restaurant. Derek doesn't relax so much, but he looks a little less like he's going to burst out of his own skin, which is a thing werewolves are known to do. 

"Yes," Stiles says. "Is it a coincidence that Kate escaped and I was attacked at your home?" 

"It might be," says Chris. He uncrosses and crosses his legs again. "But I don't think it is. I haven't yet figured out how they're related, but I wouldn't be surprised if they were."

"You don't seem that concerned," Derek grounds out between human teeth.

"I have confidence that we'll take care of this if we can work together." He drains his glass and stands up. "I'll be seeing you gentlemen around."

He leaves and Stiles removes his hand from Derek's thigh. Derek's hair bristles a little like he's going to shift right then and there, but he pulls it together.

"What an asshole," says Stiles.

"I think I should come with you to your meeting tonight," Derek says. "I want to make Deaton aware of what's happening. Make sure he isn't keeping anything from me." 

"I don't think you can come to a top secret Emissary meeting."

"They're not top secret if everyone knows about them." Derek stands up and drops his napkin on the table. "Let's go."

"What?" Stiles asks, looking up at Derek, which isn't horrible. "Let's go? No. I can't bring you."

"Stiles, someone tried to kill you and your useless bodyguard is off cavorting with a member of the family that did it. I'm coming to the meeting."

"How do _you_ know that Scott is with Allison?"

"You just confirmed it." Derek raises his eyebrows and nods his head towards the door. 

"Okay," Stiles says, he puts a hand on Derek's arm in an attempt to be casual and friendly and he ends up stroking his arm and they both freeze. Stiles drops his hand to his side. "Okay. Let's go."

"We'll take my carriage," Derek grunts without looking at him and Stiles is unable to respond for so many reasons. Not the least of which is the deep tone of Derek's voice and the memory of his firm arm under Stiles' hand.

Derek lets Stiles walk ahead of him out of the door, which makes pulling himself together difficult. Erica is standing outside of Derek's carriage, which is parked at the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. She has a hand on her hip and wears indecently tight men's clothing.

"I heard you got attacked," Stiles says to her.

She shrugs. "All in a day's work. Where are you boys off to? Back to the Den? Shall I have Isaac hurry ahead and turn down your bed, Alpha Hale?" She raises an eyebrow. "Should we make a stop for…provisions?"

"Midtown," Stiles says, without blushing. "We're going to a meeting."

\---

The Emissary meetings are held in a top secret location in midtown. It's really just an office building with extensive underground space. The Emissary to the President, Alan Deaton, meets with Stiles most nights. Sometimes they discuss magical technique or politics. If the Hale pack is in need of an Emissary they discuss strategy. Stiles is Emissary to the United States Government, but mostly works to advise Deaton who advises the president.

It's more boring than it is exciting. So Stiles likes to give it a little flare.

He stands at the doors to the meeting room and cracks his knuckles. He turns to wink at Derek and then with sparks flying from his fingers and his tattoos glowing he slams the doors open.

Deaton doesn't react from his seat at the head of the table.

A young man Stiles has never seen stands up from a seat at the table. He's got short brown hair, a round face, and a sneer like a creep. Stiles already hates him.

"A werewolf!" He shouts, pointing at Derek. "He can't bring a werewolf in here!"

Stiles looks back at Derek again, who looks both annoyed with the young man and amused by Stiles.

"You stole my entrance," Stiles hisses at him.

Deaton, steeples his fingers in front of his face. "Emissary Stilinski, you know these are closed meetings."

"I know," Stiles says. "But Alpha Hale has important things to tell you. Also who is this guy?" He jabs a finger at the creep.

"Mr. Daehler is the Emissary from London."

"Right."

Stiles recognizes the name, but he's never met him before. But everyone knows Matthew Daehler's reputation. More likely to use his power for evil instead of good, lashes out against the supernatural community. Daehler might be an Emissary, but he's not a preternatural like Stiles, and has singlehandedly championed a campaign to register and deny rights to the supernatural community.

So far he has been unsuccessful, but he has a following and power. That is what worries Stiles the most.

"Nice to meet you," Stiles says, trying to convey with a sneer that he means the opposite of that.

"Yeah," Daehler says. "You too." He throws a glance at Derek. "Alpha Hale."

Derek nods once.

"Well," Deaton said. "Since you're here, we should get started. I heard about the attack last night."

Stiles sits down across from Daehler and Derek sits to Stiles' left, close like he's going to protect him from whatever Daehler might do.

Stiles fills him in on what happened and Derek tells him about Erica's attack. Then they move on to what they learned from Chris Argent though Derek is reluctant to tell Deaton everything.

"If Kate Argent is coming to the city then it will be good for us to work together," Deaton says. "Your mother and I—."

"I am head of supernatural law enforcement," says Derek. "If she comes here I am in charge."

"You'll need our help," says Daehler.

"You're sticking around?" Stiles asks.

"I didn't come all the way from England for an evening."

"Right."

"If I need your help," Derek says. "I'll ask. I just wanted to make you aware. And make you aware that I know she's at large. We will be looking out for her and investigating these vampire attacks."

"She's been locked away for years," says Daehler. "I can't imagine the two are related."

"I think that she's capable of more than you think," Derek says.

"Do you have any idea what might be wrong with the vampires?" Stiles asks Deaton.

Deaton is silent for a moment. He sighs and leans forward in his seat. "If the first one didn't what you are, Mr. Stilinski, my guess is that someone is creating them outside of the usual channels and it's someone who isn't teaching them like someone who is going through the legal routs would."

"Maybe," Daehler says, looking pointedly at Derek, "the vampires are just giving into their base urges? They can't help what they're doing."

Derek's lips thin, but he doesn't say anything.

"I doubt that's the case," says Deaton.

"We'll see," says Daehler.

\---

After the meeting Stiles and Derek walk around the block to Derek's carriage. Derek hasn't said much since Daehler insinuated that the vampires couldn't control themselves. The last two hours have been tense and Stiles has had to fill the void with so much talking, Deaton dismissed the meeting early. Daehler hurried out ahead of them and Derek and Stiles trudged behind, hands in their pockets.

Erica stands outside the carriage, her face drawn.

"What happened?" Derek asks.

"Two more attacks," says Erica. One human died and the vampire got away. The other vampire attacked a kanima and was killed. Isaac and Boyd have taken care of it. You don't need to get involved."

Derek holds open the door to the carriage for Stiles to get in. "We'll drop off Emissary Stilinski and then head to the station."

Stiles doesn't argue even though he wants to. He doesn't feel good after that meeting. He doesn't trust anyone.

Stiles slumps against the seat of Derek's carriage and Derek climbs in across from him. The carriage rocks a little as Erica climbs to the top to drive.

"Daehler is unsettling," Derek says after a moment.

Stiles hums and nods. "Creepy."

"What do you think we should do?" Derek asks in a way that makes Stiles think they're on the same page and thank god because he didn't want to argue, but he didn't want to do nothing.

"Follow him," says Stiles with a grin.

Derek opens the door and disappears for a moment. Stiles is sure that he's telling Erica to follow Daehler home, but doing it softly enough that no one will hear him. Derek falls back inside the carriage and closes the door.

"You can't wear that ridiculous outfit," he says after a moment. "He'll know it's you."

"True." Stiles shrugs. He pulls off his velvet jacket and cravat. He waves a hand at his tartan trousers and suddenly they're plain brown ones. Despite the glowing tattoos visible in the open neck of his white shirt, Stiles almost looks normal. Even more so when the tattoos fade back to black.

"You can just do that?" Derek asks.

"It's a really low level glamor," says Stiles. "Just doing my pants takes very little concentration. Harder to do more than that. And I suspect we'll need most of my faculties in tip top shape tonight."

"You don't need the jacket?" Derek eyes Stiles' jacket like it offended him.

"I'll be fine without it. It's pretty recognizable."

Derek slumps back in his seat and pulls the curtain back to look out the window. "Do you think Daehler wants to start and anti-supe movement like he has in England?"

"I think that's pretty safe to assume."

Derek growls. "I can't believe Deaton let him here."

"Deaton has to remain neutral." Stiles swirls a finger in the air and it crackles with electricity. "I, however, do not."

Derek might not smile at that, but his lip does a little quirk upwards and it's all Stiles can hope for really.

"This is kind of nice," Stiles says. "The two of us working together. Basically best friends."

Derek immediately frowns. "Don't push it."

The carriage stops a little ways away from Daehler's hotel and Derek and Stiles exit the carriage to follow on foot. Derek stays ahead of Stiles.

"You know I can probably protect you better than you can protect me," says Stiles.

"I doubt that. I'm less likely to trip and fall headfirst into ectoplasm."

"Once," Stiles says. "That happened once."

"You glowed for a week."

Stiles also lost control of his legs for a bit there too. He's about to say something, but Derek shoves Stiles down an alleyway and pushes him up against a wall.

"What are you—."

"Shut up," Derek hisses.

He seems to be listening to something.

"Daehler is talking to someone," Derek mutters. "A man."

"What are they saying?"

"They're talking about you." Derek tilts his head upward. "They aren't saying anything specific, but—."

The window above them opens Derek presses Stiles against the side of the hotel, his arms bracketing his head. He ducks his forehead so he's touching Stiles, who is trying very hard not to implode. Suddenly everything seems very tight. His clothes and his stomach and his chest.

"Can't let him see us," Derek mutters, leaning down.

Stiles can feel Derek's breath on his lips. He feels small even though they're the same height. Like Derek could own him right here in the alleyway behind a creepy man's house. Stiles would let him.

"Can't have that happen," Stiles says.

Derek's eyes are half closed and Stiles doesn't know if he's acting or not. Trying to pass them off as impatient lovers meeting in an alleyway or if he's really so affected. Stiles hates that Derek probably knows how he feels, how tightly his body is coiled.

Stiles reaches out and tangles a hand into Derek's hair. Effectively making Derek human, making him lose all ability to smell Stiles' arousal. Derek relaxes into his touch, eyes fluttering closed.

"Stiles," he whispers, his voice sounds pained maybe. Stiles can't really place it. Maybe he's scared.

Derek pulls back abruptly. Stiles feels a little like he's been smacked. He wants to reel back and check for injuries even though he knows he's fine.

"I think that we're safe," says Derek.

There's the sound of a window opening again and Derek pushes Stiles back against the wall, this time his lips crash down on Stiles' without any warning. Derek is just there and Stiles can't help the way he opens up for him and clutches against his shoulders.

Stiles might explode. His whole body feels like a spring. He wants to let loose to pull Derek closer, to bring him home and drag him into bed. He can't do this. He knows he can't do this and he doesn't care. He'd lose everything for Derek.

Derek pulls away and Stiles tips his face up. Maybe he should tell Derek he loves him. He is pretty sure he loves him.

"They're gone," Derek says and Stiles' eyes start to burn with tears before he even realizes what's happening.

Right.

It was just to cover up their identity.

"We should leave while we can," Derek says. "You can take my carriage home. I'll run."

"What? You—um—we're not going together?"

"Best to split up."

"Oh. Okay."

"I'll see you." Derek pauses. "You have to be safe, Stiles. They want to hurt you."

And with that Derek is hurrying down the street, tearing off his clothes. Stiles gets an eyeful of shapely ass before Derek is leaping through the air as the wolf and speeding down a side street.

Stiles trudges back to the carriage and Erica starts to laugh when she sees him.


	4. In Which The Author Has Been Drinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some research into the word "dad" and it turns out people have been using it for fuckin ever. So even though it seems like it's wrong, it's not. Who knew? Probably a few people.
> 
> Remember that scene in Soulless when whatshisface pulls Alexia onto his lap and they're just like dry humping in the parlor and it's basically the best? Yeah. I remember that too.

"You're up early," Stiles' dad says when Stiles finally stumbles into the dining room for lunch.

Stiles rubs the back of his neck. "Weird night."

His whole body feels strange. Like he left part of himself behind. In the alleyway. Attached to Derek—Alpha Hale's lips.

Stiles spent most of the night vaguely aroused and angry, which was horrible and he'd like to put a stop to the combination of those feelings as long as he can.

"You all right, son?" his dad asks. He takes a sandwich from a platter and puts it on a plate for Stiles. He pushes it towards the empty seat next to him and Stiles sinks into it.

"I—there's a lot going on," says Stiles. He doesn't really know how to explain that he thinks that Matthew Daehler is somehow forcing vampires to murder people in order to create an anti supernatural movement and also Kate Argent is involved and some man that Daehler was talking to. He hasn't figured out the Kate Argent piece at all yet. He hopes that Derek has.

Even if he hates Derek a little right now.

Yes, he did love Derek last night, but he wants him to die just about now. He wants him and his perfect lips to burn in hell. Along with his strong hands and soft hair and scratchy stubble.

Stiles takes a large bite of his sandwich and thanks all the gods that his dad is human and not thinking that Stiles is a little too into his sandwich.

"Are you safe?" his dad asks.

Stiles shrugs because of course Derek had to end it with "they want to hurt you." What kind of absolute horse shit—?

"You aren't safe," his dad says, putting down his food. "Tell me what's going on."

"Der—Alpha Hale says that there are some people who want to hurt me and I may have been attacked the other night, but it's nothing."

"You were attacked?"

The doors to the dining room open and Scott falls inside like he was running into the doors. "Who wants to hurt you?"

Samuel comes running after him. "Mr. Scott McCall!" he announces and before Stiles can tell him to get lost he turns on his heel and leaves the room.

"Aren't you supposed to be his body guard?" Stiles' dad asks Scott, pulling his food towards himself like he has to protect it too.

Stiles puts his head in his hands. "It's fine. Just some jerk. We don't even really know what's going on."

"That doesn't make me feel confident. Where were you Scott?"

"With Allison." Scott sighs. "She's wonderful."

Stiles' father shakes his head. "Jesus Christ. No wonder you're in danger. Is Alpha Hale the problem? He's always getting you into trouble."

"Dad, I have a very important, sometimes dangerous job," Stiles says. "Sometimes I'm going to get hurt."

"Remember the thing with the ectoplasm," Scott says, piling three sandwiches onto his plate and pouring himself a cup of coffee. "At least then you could dance. And the ducks? Christ."

"Yes, Scott. I remember those things."

Scott takes a bite of his first sandwich. "Tell me who wants to hurt you."

"Matthew Daehler. He's an anti supernatural Emissary from London."

"He's anti supernatural and an Emissary?" Scott asks. "Isn't that wrong?"

"You'd think."

Then Scott sniffs the air. "You kind of smell like Alpha Hale."

Stiles did not bathe like he meant to and it was a horrible mistake. He has no control over his body and blushes deep red.

"Why do you smell like Alpha Hale?" his dad asks.

"He came with me to the meeting last night and we followed Daehler back to his hotel."

Scott raises his eyebrows and purses his lips.

"Nothing happened," Stiles insists. "And I don't think we found out anything because Alpha Hale just told me that Daehler and whoever he was with wanted to hurt me."

"Well," Scott says. "I'm around all day. I should probably stay the night to make sure you're safe."

"I'm going to another meeting with Deaton tonight," says Stiles. "You can't come to the meeting. It was a big enough issue that I brought Derek."

"You brought Derek? I thought these were supposed to be top secret meetings?"

"They are and Derek insisted he come."

"Well if Derek gets to come then I get to come."

"Scotty."

"I'll stand outside."

Stiles sighs. He doesn't want to fight Scott right now. He's still feeling all weird. He's already tired. He wants to go upstairs and lie in bed some more.

This would be a good point in his life to have a pet of some sort. Instead of a bunch of werewolves running around, ruining his life. He needs a bunny. Except there was that bunny infestation...

Maybe a cat. 

There's a knock on the front door Stiles jumps. He didn't know he was so on edge. Scott gives him this horrible knowing look and Scott should never be superior.

"Stop with that face." Stiles says. "Smug isn't cute on you."

Samuel enters the room and Stiles snaps his head towards him so hard his neck hurts. "There's an Alpha Hale to see you, sir."

Which seems just about right.

Stiles stands, nearly toppling the table and his chair. His hides his laughter behind his hand and Scott just shakes his head.

Stiles stumbles again and crosses his arms over his chest. "I—um—I don't know if I want to see him."

"You don't?" Scott asks.

"No. I'm angry with him."

Samuel just nods and disappears. Stiles would regret it, but Samuel appears again. "He's insisting, sir."

"Jesus. Okay. I'll meet him in the sitting room."

"Very good, sir."

Stiles points at his dad and Scott. "Don't even think about listening in. Honestly Scott you should just leave with all that werewolf shit. God. Okay. Pour me a drink for when I get back."

In the sitting room, Derek is standing at the large, rounded windows that look out onto the street. He has his hands clasped behind his back and he's fully dressed unlike when Stiles saw him last night and that's all he can see now. But also Derek's perfectly tailored pea coat isn't horrible to look at either.

Derek turns and Stiles isn't sure if he can read the expression on his face. It's stern, but hesitant. Like he doesn't know how he should feel.

"What the hell were you thinking last night?" Stiles asks and pushes Derek's chest. "Why would you do that to me?"

"What did I do?" Derek asks, raising an eyebrow like he's coy or something. Like he's the one who flirts. He's not, Stiles wants to tell him. Derek does things gruff. He isn't light and airy like Stiles is.

Stiles splutters. "You ki—!" He drops his voice to a whisper. "You kissed me, you giant hairy idiot. Why did you do that? It was completely inappropriate and very overwhelm—I am the Emissary to the United States Government!"

Derek's slow smile can only be described as wolffish. "I think I made it clear that it was to help hide us."

"You hid us by attempting to take me against a wall?" Stiles pushes Derek's chest a little, but it's very solid and somehow he ends up with one palm resting against coat and his other hand wrapped around his lapel. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Did you like it?" Derek asks. "Is that the problem?"

Stiles has never been so tempted to shout, "Well, I never!" Instead he manages to choke out, "I'm the Emissary."

"I know."

"So, I can't like it."

Derek moves closer to Stiles and Stiles goes all tight like he did the night before, body all coiled up and ready to spring. "But did you?"

"Alpha Hale," Stiles mutters and somehow, against his own very sound mind, Stiles moves his hand up Derek's chest to curve around the side of his neck. His neck that is somehow as muscular as the rest of him. "What is your exercise regimen?"

Derek huffs a laugh, warm against Stiles' lips. "Emissary Stilinski," he says.

"Of course I liked it," Stiles finally gasps.

Derek, despite Stiles' hands on him, lets out a low growl and nips at Stiles' lower lip. He pulls away, "That does seem like a problem."

Stiles is sure that they could exchange more flirtatious words, talking around the inevitable kiss, but why draw it out. He pulls Derek in by the nape of his neck and kisses him open mouthed and sloppy, nose mashing a little uncomfortably into Derek's chiseled cheek bones. They recover quickly into something slightly less violent. Stiles' lips burn on Derek's stubble and it's the best thing he's ever felt. Better even than the night before. He grips Derek's bicep with one hand and pulls him even closer, so he can feel every bit of Derek despite his bulky clothes.

Derek's hands fit around Stiles' waist and with a completely human growl, he pulls Stiles back towards the couch. He sits back on it, forcing Stiles to straddle him, giving both of them distinct evidence of how much they're enjoying this.

"I shouldn't," Stiles mutters, kissing across Derek's jaw. "I can't—."

Derek makes a noise that might be words but he buries his face in Stiles' neck, licking and kissing and taking deep breaths. Stiles moans, so loud now that he's sure Scott can hear it with his werewolf hearing, maybe his dad even with his human ears and that is a sobering thought.

He pulls away from Derek and Derek pulls him in for another kiss, grinding his hips up against Stiles' ass so Stiles can feel how hard he is. God. He's so hard. And possibly very large and Stiles is going to think about that a lot later. Maybe for the rest of his life. Stiles' own erection is pressing inconveniently against the front of his trousers and Derek's stomach.

"Derek," Stiles gasps, trying to keep his voice hushed. "Jesus, Derek. Stop."

Derek pulls away immediately. He doesn't remove his hands from Stiles' hips, but he stops moving and relaxes his grip.

"I am the Emissary to the United States Government," Stiles says, trying to convey the importance of his position with his tone. It comes out more breathy than he intends and he suspects he sounds a bit like a call girl pretending to be the Emissary for someone with a very specific fetish.

"You are," Derek says. He's got a little smile playing across his lips.

"You don't even like me."

"You frustrate me. That's different."

"Great."

"You also intrigue me," Derek says, craning his neck so he can press a soft kiss to Stiles' jaw. "I can't stop thinking about you."

"Am I a case to solve?" Stiles is still very aware of the fact that they're both hard, but he tries to move past it.

"No." Derek presses another kiss to Stiles' jaw. "I think you're a potential partner. I like the way we work together. You're intelligent and talented and have a great ass." He punctuates this by letting a hand slip over the back of Stiles' trousers.

Stiles arches an eyebrow. "You've noticed that I'm intelligent?"

Derek laughs a little. "Yes." 

"This seems sudden." 

"It's not. I promise it's not." 

"Oh." 

Derek presses a third kiss to Stiles' skin. "I think I would do anything for you."

Stiles' heart gives a weak little flutter at that. "Oh."

How dare Derek reduce Stiles to monosyllabic words. Not even words. Sounds! Just a sound!

"Last night—?"

"I didn't mean to kiss you," Derek says hurriedly. "But I've wanted to. And I thought that if you didn't want to kiss me back then I could brush it off. I want you, Stiles."

"I'm the Emissary," Stiles mutters. "It's an ancient position. I can't just change the rules."

"Certainly other Emissaries have had romantic interests."

"You met Deaton. He's basically a monk."

"Get dinner with me tonight," Derek says. "Before your meeting. We'll go somewhere nice and we can talk about this."

"Should we be seen together? What if someone assumes that it is…not innocent? What if I get stripped of my position because of this?"

"I think that we've been seen together often enough for business that no one will assume that it's not the case. And I think that if you come to the Den we might be tempted to continue like this."

Stiles is still straddling Derek's thighs. It's hard not to pull Derek back for another kiss.

"That makes sense," Stiles says.

"I want you," Derek says. "I want to make this work."

"I can't even believe you don't hate me."

"You're invasive," Derek says.

"I'm invasive?"

"Yes. You came into my city and disrupted everything. I can't stop thinking about you."

Stiles, who is still sitting on Derek's lap, who is still hard and breathing a little heavily, blushes. "Well."

Derek stands up and dumps Stiles unceremoniously onto the floor. "Your father is coming."

"Oh Jesus." Stiles scrambles up as the door opens and his dad eyes the two of them.

"Scott told me I should check on you," he says. "Glad to see you aren't doing anything unsavory on my settee."

"Never, sir," Derek says even though he is taller than Stiles' father and Stiles is nearly twenty-seven years old and his father has no business caring about what he does with another man behind closed doors. Derek dons his hat and straightens his coat. "I'll be going." He stops in front of Stiles and takes his hand. "I'll be by at eight."

He presses a kiss to Stiles' hand like he's some sort of woman and Stiles does not swoon even a little bit.

Derek thanks Stiles' dad, thanks Samuel for letting him in, and shouts something back to Scott that has something to do with being a werewolf, but Stiles has no idea what it is. Derek could say something in plain English and Stiles would have no idea because he is in shock from kisses and dinner and possible a declaration of love.

At least a declaration of like. A declaration of caring and something.

"I thought you had to remain single," Stiles' dad says.

"Yes...probably." Stiles heads towards the stairs. "I only have seven hours to find an outfit."


	5. In Which Our Hero Is Stood Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that people started saying "sure thing" in the US in the 1800s?

Derek Hale—tall, dark, and hairy bastard—is late. 

Stiles has been waiting for forty-five goddamn minutes now and his leg won't stop shaking. He's dressed appropriately in black with his velvet jacket and shining leather shoes. For once, Stiles looks like an upstanding citizen who owns normal clothing.

He looks so good. He knows he looks good. He wanted to look as good as Derek Hale. He wanted to sit next to him or across from him and have no one ask if he belonged. He belongs with Derek Hale and he would have proved it. He wanted Derek to pull him onto his lap again and finish what they started earlier. 

And Derek is _late_. 

Stiles stands and goes to the door. He doesn’t have a plan, really. Just a vague desire to wander around the city until his meeting in a few hours. Feeling bad for himself on the streets of New York is really his only option. If he gets lucky it’ll rain. 

Maybe he’ll get food and it’ll make him sick. 

"I'm leaving, dad!" Stiles shouts from the door.

His dad appears from the kitchen, hands dusty with flour. John Stilinski doesn't like doing nothing all the time. Back in California he was the sheriff of a small town. So he's taken up baking. He tends to bake at times when his job as a sheriff would be most exciting. Stiles usually finds him taking pies from the oven around midnight and eating them alone at two in the morning. 

The thought makes Stiles even sadder and he hates Derek more. Stiles could have just gone on feeling like his crush was unrequited and it would have been a lot easier knowing for sure that Derek didn’t even want to have dinner with him. Derek Hale is a man who pulls young men onto his lap, invites them out to dinner, and then stands them up without so much as a “sorry it’s a full moon.” 

It's not a full moon. Since becoming an Emissary, Stiles is annoyingly aware of the lunar cycle. 

"Alone?" his dad asks. "Where's Scott? What's the point of having a guard if you're never being guarded? Weren't you supposed to meet Alpha Hale for dinner?" 

"Yes," Stiles says. "He was supposed to be here nearly an hour ago." 

His dad frowns. "I'm sorry, son." 

"Me too." 

"Maybe he got caught up in something?" 

Stiles rubs the back of his neck. "Maybe." 

"He's very busy and you said yourself that something is happening." 

"I know. But I’m the Emissary. If something is happening, Alpha Hale would tell me. I think I was stood up." 

Stiles is aware that he’s whining, but he’s not too proud. 

His dad sighs. "Should you get in touch with Scott? To bring you to your meeting?" 

Stiles waves a hand. "No. I'll be fine. And I can stop to find out if something happened. I'll stop by the Den." 

That's a lie and Stiles is sure his dad knows that it's a lie. It was his job after all. But his dad just shrugs like he can't be bothered to call Stiles out on it. Probably because he pities him and his dumb heart that's feeling a little broken right now. 

"All right, son." He squeezes Stiles' shoulders. "I'll see you in the morning." 

Stiles nods. "I'll see you." 

\---

"Where's your werewolf?" Daehler spits when Stiles walks in to his meeting a few hours later, cheeks rosy and nose cold. 

He never went to see what happened to Derek. He headed towards the Den, but decided sitting alone at a pub down the street from his meeting made a lot more sense than seeming desperate. 

"He doesn't need to be here tonight," Stiles growls. Maybe he can set Daehler on fire. And he knows that he needs to be clever about this. He can't just accuse Daehler of something nefarious without knowing exactly what that something is, but he wants to. 

He plops down into the seat next to Deaton and glares at Daehler instead of murdering him. 

"We have rules, Emissary Stilinski," Deaton says and Stiles isn't sure if he's referring to Stiles' relationship with Derek or to Stiles' desire to murder Daehler. 

"I know," Stiles says despite having no idea. 

"Glad to hear it," Deaton says. 

Deaton moves on to more important topics quickly. He goes over some questions that the president has about something or other and Stiles barely listens. 

“There were two more vampire attacks this evening,” Deaton says and Stiles finally pays attention. 

“Two more?” Stiles asks. “Were they vampires without nests? Does Lydia know? Are the vampires all right?” 

“The vampires and the humans who were attacked are dead,” Deaton says. 

Maybe that’s why Derek never showed up. But why wouldn’t Derek tell him? He could have sent a note and it would have been better than nothing at all. 

“Emissary Stilinski,” Deaton snaps like he knows Stiles is more worried about Derek than the people who were killed. 

“Sorry,” Stiles says. “Who killed the vampires?” 

“Alpha Hale’s betas,” Deaton says. 

“Not Alpha Hale?” 

Deaton narrows his eyes at Stiles. “No. Should he have been there?” 

“Why would he do his own dirty work when he has his betas to do it for him?” Daehler asks. 

Stiles turns to Daehler and jabs a finger at him. “Alpha Hale does not have his betas do his ‘dirty work’ for him. They’re doing their job.” 

“There’s always a choice,” Daehler says. “They didn’t have to kill the vampires.” 

Deaton steeples his fingers in front of his chin. “From the reports it seems that vampires may have played a role in their own deaths. I don’t think Alpha Hale’s betas were given much of a choice.” He sighs. “We won’t be meeting for another week. Will you still be here, Emissary Daehler?” 

“I will be,” Daehler says. 

“Wonderful. Emissary Stilinski, spend the next week trying to learn anything you can about what’s happening with the vampires. I know that Alpha Hale would like to get one alive, if he can. So he can question them. We’re trying to keep this low profile. We don’t want humans panicking about vampires and trying to kill them on their own.” 

“Absolutely not,” Stiles says. “Do you think we can spare a week?” 

“I have to go away,” Deaton says, which is what he always says. He does this. He’ll just disappear without telling anyone where he’s going and Stiles somehow forgets that he does this up until the moment he’s going. 

“Right,” Stiles says. 

“Maybe we should meet,” Daehler says to Stiles. “Just the two of us.” 

Daehler has this weird look in his eye and Stiles is sure that Daehler is inviting him over to kill him. Stiles has never let that stop him from doing anything before. 

“Sure thing,” Stiles says, knowing he sounds fake. “Tuesday night?” 

“Tuesday night sounds perfect. Why don’t you come over for dinner at the hotel?"

“What time?” 

“Let’s say nine.”

“Great. Can’t wait.” 

“It’s a date.” 

Something in Stiles’ stomach swoops and he’s pretty sure he should ask if Scott can come with him as his guard, but he doesn’t say anything. And he’s not entirely sure anymore if Daehler wants to kill him or come onto him. Either way, Scott is going to keep him from getting the information he wants. 

\---

Stiles trudges back home alone at four in the morning. He considered following Daehler home again, but he's still upset about Derek and listening for something from Daehler just doesn't seem worth it. Anyway, he’ll be having dinner with Daehler in a couple of nights. 

It's not the spirit of adventure he usually has. But Derek was ridiculously romantic and then just didn't show. Stiles was willing for a few moments there to stake his entire career on those romantic declarations. 

_I think I'd do anything for you._

Bastard. 

The air is knocked out of Stiles as his whole body is pushed against a nearby wall. Someone breathes heavy and hot against his ear. This someone growls. 

Stiles is nearly ready to fight. His tattoos tingle, his fingers itch with magic. Then he's turned around roughly to face—

"Derek?" 

Derek is almost completely shifted. Pointy ears, weird forehead with complete lack of eyebrows, fangs hanging over his bottom lip. The hand that holds Stiles is completely human, but the one against the wall is clawed and crumbling some of the brick. All this despite the fact that he's touching Stiles, who should be taking away all of his supernatural powers. 

Derek's eyes don't leave Stiles' face. He growls. 

"Mine." 

And then he goes in for Stiles' neck and Stiles braces himself for death, but instead it's just weird licking and snuffling and tiny nips with very sharp teeth. 

"Derek!" Stiles shouts, pushing at his shoulders. "What the hell are you doing? You abandon me tonight and then just show up and expect me to—." 

Derek pull back. "Angry?" 

"Yes! I'm angry! What is this single word response thing? It's not even the full moon. What is going on?" 

Derek's fingers curl around Stiles' waist. "Mine." 

"Not yours. I'm my own." 

"Alpha Hale!" 

Derek turns. Eric sprints across the street towards them. Derek turns and growls, like he's protecting Stiles. 

"Alpha Hale," Erica says when she reaches them. "We have to leave." 

"What is wrong with him?" Stiles asks. 

"Nothing," Erica says sharply. 

Stiles wants to say something else about Derek missing their dinner, but he doesn't. 

"It seems like something is wrong with him." 

"Alpha Hale," Erica says, ignoring Stiles. "Your betas need you." 

She turns and goes. Derek turns around, takes one last deep sniff of Stiles, and then lopes off after Erica like a dog. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you for reading and commenting and leaving kudos! I love you all. You're perfect and beautiful and I am eternally grateful.


	6. In Which Our Protagonist Gets Cuddled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very very very very very sorry that it's been a million years since I last updated. I'm sure you understand that things get crazy and as much as I'd like fan fiction to come first, a million other things have to come before it. Important things like fellowship applications and getting my book published and other things like watching all of The Jinx in one night and binge listening to My Favorite Murder. 
> 
> Also at some point I'm going to go back and edit earlier chapters because I was reading through them and damn it's all typos. 
> 
> Okay. Thanks for reading and I love you and enjoy this chapter! The next one should be around sooner than this one was.

Melissa McCall answers the door when Stiles bangs on it. Her eyes are barely open and she's dressed in a blue robe and night dress.

"It's three in the morning, Stiles," she says on a groan.

"I can make you something to fall asleep." Stiles gives her what he hopes is a charming smile and wiggles his fingers at her. 

"No. Why are you here, Stiles?"

"Don't you have someone who opens the door for you?" he asks. He doesn't want to seem rude, but he also doesn't want someone questioning him when his brain is already working in overdrive and he can't be expected to come up with a reasonable excuse beyond: Derek is very growly. 

"Yes. But she's asleep and I was awake, you idiot. Why are you here?"

"I need to talk to Scott. My life is maybe in shambles, Mrs. McCall. I need to speak with him."

Melissa steps away from the door and Stiles pushes past her and heads up the stairs.

"Thanks Melissa!" Stiles shouts and he hears her mutter something under her breath that sounds a little like "I'm going to murder him."

Stiles turns around. "Here. Uh...I'll do something for you that doesn't involve helping you sleep? What do you want?"

"Just go upstairs, Stiles."

He nods. He ascends the stairs and Scott stands outside of the door to his bedroom at the end of the hallway. The McCall residence is simple. Like Stiles and his father, they weren't accustomed to the luxuries that their neighbors were. They were still slowly getting used to someone being paid to open doors and clean and cook and weren't quite at the decorating phase of their new wealth and status.

Being the best friend and bodyguard of the Emissary has its perks. Being the Emissary has even more perks. Neither Scott nor Stiles are very sure what to do with those perks all the time. 

Scott doesn't say anything as Stiles slips past him into his room, he just shuts the door behind them and lets Stiles collect himself.

Stiles, for his part, doesn't do much collecting. He's busy going through Scott's drawers to find something to sleep in. Scott probably won't mind. He's not saying anything.

Scott is the type of friend that is wise in quiet ways and an idiot in others. In matters pertaining to Stiles' emotional state he always knows what Stiles needs. When it's more about common sense, Scott is useless.

"You seem manic," Scott says eventually.

"Something happened."

"A bad something?"

"I don't know." Stiles pulls clothes out of the drawers. "Let me change and then I'll tell you what happened. I have to figure out how to say it."

"Take your time," Scott says.

Stiles changes in the bathroom off of Scott's room and when he comes back, Scott is lying in his bed. Stiles gets in next to him. It's not strange, Stiles assures himself, as he would assure any future partner. They've been doing this for years.

"Tell me what happened," Scott says and Stiles tells him every detail of his evening, from the moment that Derek stood him up.

After he thinks on it, Scott says, "He sounds Feral." 

Stiles was the only one there for Scott when he was bitten. They learned everything about werewolves and the supernatural world together. Without Scott, Stiles would have never come into his emissary abilities. He wouldn't be here without Scott. But Stiles is still surprised when Scott knows something that he doesn't.

"Oh," Stiles says because Scott is right. Derek seemed feral. Maybe it was the shock of the encounter that kept him from piecing it together. "Feral."

"He doesn't have control over himself. He's nuzzling you. That seems feral."

"Yes. You're right. How did that happen?"

The question is more for himself, but Scott answers anyway.

"I'm not sure. It can be triggered by something. Usually trauma. Or possibly a spell."

Stiles tries not to react to the trauma part. "Erica dragged him away. I wasn't able to ask anything."

"Erica clearly knows something," Scott says and Stiles narrows his eyes at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she came and got him. So she knows that something is wrong and she's taking care of him. I think you need to talk to her."

"Have you ever tried to talk to Erica? I love her, but it'll be a miracle if I get away alive."

"You should see him. Try to figure out what happened. It's the only way you can reverse it."

"Yes." Stiles' chest is doing a strange tight thing. "I'm feeling very overwhelmed. There's a lot going on, Scott."

"What do you need me to do?"

"I'm not sure yet. But I'll need something."

"I'm here."

"I know you are."

"Do you want to talk about you and Derek? That's going to be a problem, right?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. What about you and Allison?"

"It's more complicated than I anticipated."

Stiles nods. "Sounds about right."

"She's so pretty though."

"That she is. Sleep?"

"Yes," Scott says, rolling away from Stiles. "Sleep."

\---

Isaac tries to stop Stiles as he storms into the Hale mansion the next afternoon. He chases after him down the halls that Stiles knows lead to the apartment Derek keeps—he was there once before because of the duck issue. Stiles throws sparks over his shoulder to sting at Isaac's feet and he should feel bad for Isaac's yelping, but he doesn't. They're keeping something from him and that's just not done.

Boyd stands in front of the doors, his hands come up when Stiles approaches.

"Stilinski—."

Stiles slams the doors open with a flick of his wrist and Boyd still steps in front of him.

"You don't want to go in there," Boyd says.

"I really do."

Derek's rooms seem empty. The doors open into a sitting room filled with dark furniture and lots of books. There's a mahogany desk in the corner with a tufted deep purple velvet chair behind it. Papers are strewn across the desk and it takes much of Stiles' willpower to not take a look through them.

There's a shuffling and a growl behind the door Stiles knows leads to the bedroom. The door opens and Erica tumbles out, slamming it behind herself before there's a loud roar that shakes some of the crystal glasses that are littered across various surfaces.

"Tell me what's wrong with him," Stiles demands.

"Nothing," Erica says. She looks a little harried and there's an unhealed scratch on her cheek. It looks fresh.

"Bullshit. I know he's feral."

"Then why did you want me to tell you?"

"Because I wanted you to admit to me. Did he do that to you?" He points at Erica's cheek though it was obviously Derek that scratched her. Erica rolls her eyes and swats his hand away. "I'm going in."

Erica grabs his arm. "No you're not. He's dangerous."

"He won't hurt me."

"How do you know?"

"He didn't last night, right?"

"Last night was—."

"I'm going in."

Stiles flicks his wrist and the door opens. One second he's staring at Derek's large, disheveled bed. The next he's being pushed against the opposite wall, Derek's face shoved against his neck.

Stiles recovers himself for a moment. Remembers that Derek doesn't want to kill him. He runs a hand over Derek's back.

"Okay, big guy?" he asks and Derek whimpers a little. His hands clutch Stiles' clothes, Stiles is sure that his claws are ripping the fabric.

Derek sighs. "Stiles."

"Feral," Erica says over Derek's loud snuffling.

"At least he can speak."

"Barely," Erica says. "It's mostly your name."

Stiles flushes. "Well, I—I don't really know what to say to that."

"He thinks you're his mate," Boyd says and Derek makes a delighted noise at the word mate. "Which is why we were trying to keep you apart."

"Who did this to him?" Stiles asks.

"We don't know. He went to see you, then went to the station, and saw Isaac. Next thing we know, he's running around half out of his mind and roaring for you."

"Great," Stiles says. "Guess I have to do all the work around here. Do any of you know how to fix this?"

"Other than just waiting to see if it goes away?" Erica asks. "No. We don't."

Stiles runs a hand through Derek's hair. He can't help it. And just twenty-four hours ago, Stiles was straddling Derek's thick thighs and kissing those soft lips.

"I'll figure this out," Stiles says.

\---

Stiles manages to leave Derek. It isn't without a lot of growling and shouting and Boyd getting his shirt ripped, but Stiles get away with promises that he'll be back for Derek later. Though Stiles has no intention of going back to see him without knowing exactly how to fix this.

It's going to be difficult without Deaton and he spends many hours at the library trying to find any information he can, though it proves fruitless. At around ten, hungry and brain a little fuzzy from all the information it has taken in, Stiles wanders over to Lydia's home. She's the only person smarter than he is and she shouldn't mind an unannounced house call from her favorite emissary.

Stiles is shown to Lydia's room and she opens her door after Stiles knocks too many times to be ignored. Her hair is slightly disheveled and her lipstick smudged. She wraps her silk robe around herself as she closes the door. Stiles can hear Parrish and Jackson arguing on the other side of it.

"Parrish should be with Derek," Stiles says.

"What's wrong with Derek?" Lydia asks.

"He's feral."

"Interesting."

"I don't have any literature on feral werewolves beyond 'kill them.' And I can't go to the Argent's library right now. Can you help me?"

"Of course," Lydia says. "But Derek is fine without Parrish."

"Fine. He's fine."

Lydia pushes past him and heads down the hall. "Are you hungry, Stiles?"

"Yes," he says. "Don't feed me blood."

"You act like you don't even know me."

She leads him to the library and somehow there is already a plate of fruits and cheeses for Stiles laid out. There's a bottle of wine and two glasses. One is already filled with something deep red and too thick to be wine.

Stiles should be used to the blood by now, but the full glass of it still makes him uncomfortable.

"Sit," Lydia says.

She pushes Stiles into a chair and pours him a glass of wine. She takes her glass of blood and sips it like she's never had anything better.

"It's a very good vintage," she says with a smirk.

"Did you just bring me in here to make me feel sick?" Stiles asks. He doesn't touch the food but he takes the wine. 

Lydia smirks and sits on the edge of the table. "You are in a bad mood, Emissary Stilinski. Are you upset about Alpha Hale?"

"Of course I'm upset about Alpha Hale!"

"I heard you were supposed to have dinner with him." She gives him the conspiratorial look she always gives him when they're gossiping. But now it's about Stiles and not about someone that they barely know and it's not nearly as much fun.   
  
"How did you hear that?" If Lydia knows then anyone can know. So much for keeping it a secret.   
  
"I have my ways. I thought you weren't allowed romantic relationships."

"It's complicated."

"It is."

Stiles gives her a pleading look. "Can you help me fix him?" 

"I don't know," she says, standing up from the table and walking around the room. "All I know is that a werewolf becomes feral when it's triggered by something."

Stiles tracks Lydia's movement with his eyes. "Yeah. Or it could be a spell. I know that too."

"You just have to determine what happened to Derek."

"You didn't hear anything. Did you?"

"He was seen with a woman yesterday," Lydia says, walking over to a shelf and pulling down a couple of books. "He didn't tell you?"

"He didn't get the chance."

She drops the books down onto the table. "Well, that might be where you start looking. What woman would he be meeting with?"

"I don't know."

"Allison said her cousin Kate escaped."

"Do you think he was meeting with Kate? Why wouldn't he just arrest her. I don't think he could just meet with Kate."

"Maybe he was going to arrest her and couldn't." Lydia lowers herself into an arm chair. "What do you think they're trying to achieve by making him feral?"

Stiles tries to put it all together in his head. "Well I think that Daehler is working with someone to undermine the supernatural community. That's the vampire thing."

Lydia shudders. "Right."

Stiles continues. "And he's working with a man. Maybe they broke Kate out and Kate triggered Derek or put a spell on him to make him feral. I think maybe to add to the vampire thing? They want him to attack someone maybe."

"Has he attacked anyone?"

"Just me. But only because he thinks I'm his mate."

"His mate? Interesting."

"It's not. It involves a lot of close contact, but none that I'd like."

"He loves you."

"Barely. He wants to mate me. There's a difference."

"Maybe. So Kate made him feral to help with making the supernatural community look bad. But what's their goal? What are they trying to do long term?" Stiles presses his fingers to his head to help himself think. "Do they want Daehler to take over the Emissary position? Derek said that they want to hurt me. But do the want to kill me? Maybe they want Derek to kill me and they'll have to have someone replace me and why not have someone who is staunchly against supernatural rights?"

"This all seems plausible," Lydia says. "Maybe you should focus on staying alive instead of getting Derek back."

"No. Derek is the important one. I can just stay alive in the meantime."

Lydia rolls her eyes. She pats the books she had dropped on the table. "These should help you figure out if it's a spell or not. If it's not a spell you're going to need to find something to trigger it back." Lydia looks thoughtful for a moment. "Did you...he didn't turn human when he touched you earlier?"

Stiles shakes his head. "No. That's probably weird, right?"

"Maybe it's changed him so much that your touch just takes away his supernatural powers, not his physical differences."   
  
"That could make sense."

"It could. You'll still have to do more work."

"That figures." Stiles sighs and picks up the books. He downs his glass of wine and looks at the plate of food he didn't eat. "I'm going to go home."

"Let me know how Derek is," Lydia says, wrapping her arms around Stiles and hugging him tightly. Probably not very tight at all, but her vampire strength is deceptive. "I'll let you know if I hear anything."   
  
"Thank you."

"Don't feel bad, Stiles. If anyone can figure this out it's you."

Stiles nods. "Right. Have a good night with Parrish and Jackson."

Lydia winks. "I will."

\---

A growl startles Stiles when he exits Lydia's home. Before Stiles can do anything drastic, Derek appears from the shadows. He gets close to Stiles.

"Mine," he says.

"No," Stiles says. "Not yours. Not anyone's."

Derek growls. He looks at Lydia's home. "Mine."

"Did you follow me here?" Stiles asks.

"Mine," Derek says one more time.

"I know that something is wrong, Derek," Stiles says. "But you just can't do this!"

Derek looks appropriately ashamed at Stiles' raised voice. Stiles would feel bad, but Derek can't just stalk him. Even if he is feral.

"You should go, Derek," Stiles says.

He knows that on some level Derek understands him. He's understood him before.

"Go," Stiles says.

"Stiles." Derek's voice is so pathetic sounding that Stiles wants to weep for him. Instead he crosses his arms over his chest and stares Derek down. He can't let Derek get away with this.

Derek nods once and turns. Stiles watches him lope down the sidewalk and disappear into the dark.

He tells himself on his long walk home that he did the right thing. Derek needs someone to be stern with him.

\---

Stiles wakes up to a scratching noise at his window and is for a moment paralyzed with fear. That same fear that comes from waking up from a nightmare, convinced that the room is not empty. Except it is really empty and Stiles is perfectly capable of defending himself if it wasn't.

He sits up in bed, fingers sparking, tattoos glowing, ready for an all out fight when the window opens and a big hulking form tumbles through.

Stiles stands on his bed. "Declare yourself or I'll kill you," he says with much more confidence than he feels. He doesn't really know what people do in this situation. He's ever really had to deal with this before.

The figure makes a low growl and straightens up. Blue eyes flash in the darkness and Stiles sighs in relief.

"Christ, Derek." Stiles jumps down from the bed. "I almost killed you. You can't just come in here like that."

Derek makes a low noise that sounds a little like an apology. Stiles lights the lamp next to his bed with his fingers and walks over to Derek, who's dressed like he was just throwing the bare minimum of clothing on. He's wearing a cotton shirt, trousers, and no shoes. His face is still half shifted and he looks away from Stiles a little. Like he's ashamed.

"They haven't figured out how to fix you?" Stiles asks.

Derek shakes his head.

"Why did you come here? It can't just be the mate thing."

Too quickly for Stiles to stop him, Derek pulls his shirt over his head and his pants over his legs and he crawls into Stiles' bed in just his underpants.

"Oh," Stiles says, looking at him.

Derek closes his eyes and pretends to sleep. Then he opens one eye and beckons  
Stiles back to the bed.

"Okay," says Stiles.

He puts out the lamp with a flick of his wrist and crawls into bed with Derek. He isn't exactly sure how they're supposed to sleep, but before he can ask, Derek takes his arm, holds it out and then fills the open space with his body. He's shorter than Stiles by a few inches, but bigger everywhere else and it takes a few tries to get comfortable for both of them.

"This is all you want?" Stiles asks, surprised that Derek isn't trying to mount him or claim him.

Derek snuffles against Stiles' side and Stiles relaxes. If feral Derek loves him then he won't hurt him. He doesn't know how he knows this but he does. Derek with all of his mental facilities would never hurt Stiles so this Derek wouldn't either.

"Protect me," Derek grunts.

Stiles reaches up and runs his fingers through Derek's hair. Derek sighs, content.

"Good Stiles," Derek says, his eyes are closed and his face relaxed, despite the fangs poking out of his mouth and the pointy ears and the weird lack of eyebrows, Derek looks peaceful.

"So you can talk a little," says Stiles.

"Hard," says Derek.

"Kind of hard for you anyway, right?"

Derek pulls Stiles closer and let's out a breath against his chest that sounds a little like agreement. But he stays silent and Stiles continues to pet his hair. Eventually Derek's breathing turns even and he falls asleep at Stiles' side. Stiles takes the opportunity to brush his hair away from his face.

He places a kiss against Derek's brow and then scolds himself for being so strange. Normal people don't do any of the things he's don't in the last hour. Though normal people don't do any of he things he done his entire life. So it's a bit of a lost cause.

"Goodnight, Derek," Stiles whispers.

For the first time in ages he really curses his current employment. He could have this forever if he was allowed romantic relationships. If he was allowed a husband and partner. He could have Derek in his bed, curled against his side until his last day. Maybe he could fight it.

Yes. He's fight it. He'll figure out how to fix Derek then figure out what's going on with the vampires, and then he'll figure out how to spend the rest of his life with the second most adorable werewolf the world has ever seen.

The first, of course, is Scott. Stiles is loathe to admit it, but the puppy dog eyes and crooked jaw could probably end wars.

"I'll figure this out," Stiles tells Derek before closing his eyes and settling his cheek on Derek's hair. "I'll make everything better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting and telling me to post another chapter. Honestly, it's what keeps me writing this thing. Thank you thank you thank you! I love you! That's like not even an exaggeration. I fuckin love you.


	7. In Which The Author Is Busy And Uninspired

Hey friends! 

So I haven't updated since January and it's not that I've given up on this fic. I've got notes and an outline for the whole thing. It's just that I'm doing other things and want to work on another fic and this just isn't making me feel as good as I want it to, you know? And it is my firm belief that writing fan fiction should always be fun and fulfilling. Life's too short to be stressed about my favorite hobby. 

In other words, this guy is going to be finished at some point. It might even be finished some time in the next few months, but for now Fangless is going on hiatus. 

Anyway, I love you all and appreciate all your kudos-ing and comments.


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